


Feed - Repeat

by Lina_Love



Series: Saw Bullshit [3]
Category: Saw (Movies)
Genre: A lot of hcs, Cigarettes, Food Issues, Kind of pov not really, Kissing, Lady and the Tramp (1955) References, M/M, OCD, Pictures, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Quitting cigarettes !, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, adam centric
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-28
Updated: 2020-09-28
Packaged: 2021-03-07 17:02:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,787
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26691097
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lina_Love/pseuds/Lina_Love
Summary: repetitive bullshit but it's all about Adam and hey guys Lawrence n Adam finally KISS so there's that
Relationships: Adam Faulkner-Stanheight/Lawrence Gordon
Series: Saw Bullshit [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1942012
Comments: 5
Kudos: 28





	Feed - Repeat

**Author's Note:**

> so I'm doing this thing now where I use a word generator and pick two of three to turn into a fic
> 
> I got feed and repeat this time and I kinda like where my mind went also also !!!
> 
> they finally kissed so this series is starting to rock

ＦＥＥＤ － ＲＥＰＥＡＴ ；

Ｃｈａｉｎｓｈｉｐｐｉｎｇ

Wake up, take pictures, overthink, sleep.

_Wake up, take pictures, overthink, sleep._

_**Wake up, take pictures, overthink, sleep.** _

**Wake up, take pictures, overthink, sleep.**

Each day was the same for the budding photographer, always had been, always would be. 

As a child, he'd daydream in school until he could get his hands on one of his dozen of disposable cameras. Take pictures, think about how they'd turn out, how he'd make room in his endless stashes of photos, lay awake at night in an empty house and pretend he couldn't hear the creaking of the family in the apartment above his.

As a teenager, he would sit in random parks for hours on end, a Polaroid in hand. Snapping shots of anything he thought was worth storing in the few spaces he had left to put new pictures alongside his thousands of others.

All the while thinking about where his next meal would come from.

From the start of his adulthood, he met with faceless employers. Sat alone in the only safe space he ever had, more comfortable surrounded by the color red than anything else.

Downtime allocated by stringing up pictures he hated of people he didn't know.

Things he didn't think were beautiful.

Images he would never deem important enough for his personal collection.

At least it kept his mind busy.

' _I wonder who this guy is. What did he do to get Anon four to be pissed enough to hire him? He looks nice. I bet I'd get along with him_. '

' _This girl looks familiar. I think I went to high school with her. She has a kid. I wish I'd intervened as she plunged a needle into her vein instead of taking a picture of it_. '

' _I just watched a man get shot. I could've helped. All I did was take a picture for a crooked cop_. '

' _**Which one of these people is going to end up paying for my next meal..?** _'

As a twenty year old, far away from a safety net of a dark room, far away from a claustrophic apartment stacked to the ceiling with boxes of photographs, in a too large, too complicated house, he found it was still the same.

_Wake up, take pictures, overthink, sleep._

He woke up each morning when the bed beside him shifted. Each morning it happened at the same time, six AM on the dot.

Lawrence didn't use an alarm anymore because he always felt bad that it would stir Adam from the sleep he so rarely got. But the doctor's internal clock was so depely programmed that he didn't need it.

Adam never opened his mouth to say that he could use an alarm, because while he pretended to still be asleep, as soon as Lawrence was awake, so was he.

He only knew that Lawrence would feel terrible for disturbing him.

Adam's day never truly started until eight am. The front door shut, and locked from the outside, and then he deemed it safe to slink out of a too big and too soft bed to the empty house before him.

Routine always left food on the counter for him to find. Most mornings it was something simple, seeing as the man had to go to work -- ( Lawrence had a job. He was productive. Why did he put up with him..? ) -- but it was always well appreciated.

Normally, it was nothing fancier than some toast and sliced up fruit. On the weekends he stumbled out to pancakes, bacon, eggs, anything he could ask for.

Every morning also had a single cigarette framed next to his food.

Newports. 100s. 

Slim, packed full of nicotine, and mintier than mouthwash.

He'd been trying to quit, or at the very least, smoke a little less. He gave his pack to Lawrence, and let the man ration them out as he saw fit.

It was easier to slow down knowing that someone he trusted was guiding him.

Every morning he'd take ten drags on the porch, every morning he'd stub the end out and store the short behind his ear.

Every morning he sat on the couch and numbly ate the food left for him, not tasting anything as he watched the morning news.

Every morning they mentioned Jigsaw.

Every morning he muted the television and put his dish in the sink.

Every morning he took another five desperate drags of that cigarette to soothe his nerves.

And every morning he returned to his camera.

Every morning he'd take a mental count of the amount of boxes, photo albums, and folders he had filled with his photos.

How many were piled up by the front door, waiting to move into this house as soon as Adam felt that he had moved in himself.

Easily over five thousand. From his first picture, blurry with a horrific glare, a small neighborhood dog, eyes red, all the way to a candid of Lawrence in that parking garage.

He used the money from that job to buy a gas station pizza.

The rest of his day passed by in a blur. His mind conjured up memories of the trap. Of grime coated tiles, rusty pipes.

The feeling of being shot, his own blood, gushing from him.

There was so much blood.

It didn't hurt as bad as being stabbed with a nail did.

It was shocking then, just as it was now. How the pain was a sharp throbbing, how scary it was that so much blood could be leaving his body from something that didn't feel as bad as it should.

The sight of Lawrence being electrocuted. He could still smell fried flesh and burnt hair. It smelt like the week old McDonald's hamburger he tried to reheat in a moment of desperation.

He could taste deep fried flesh on his tognue just from the smell alone.

He thought about that the most. How scared he was when he thought that Lawrence had died after only knowing him for a few hours, how relieved he was when he hadn't been left alone.

How that relief lingered through every passing moment.

From his hand on his face, promising to come back for him.

From those gentle, blue eyes checking in on him during their hospital stay. Adam always had to ignore the wheelchair he had been in.

Even now, he found his thinking about Lawrence could ease his other troubled thoughts.

As his fingers snapped odd pictures of their living space, the noises in his mind evened out to a distant buzz as he focused on the Doctor.

Of blond hair and a gentle but stern voice. How warm he was.

How -- _God damn him_ \-- thoughtful he was.

All Adam had to do was call, hesitant and scared, and Lawrence would drop everything to come to his aid.

Usually with a pizza or fast food in hand.

Pizza never smelled as good as it did when Lawrence brought it home just for him.

One of a dozen flashes clicked through the room, and the young man's eyes fell to the clock.

It wasn't morning anymore.

Half past four.

Thirty minutes before Lawrence walked through the door. Each day, everything happened at the same time.

Every day. There was no breaking from the routine he had his entire life.

_Overthink, sleep._

He found the couch once more, utterly exhausted from a day of doing absolutely nothing, his head hanging down into his hands.

Mentally, he tried to figure out how long it'd been since that game had ended.

A baseball season came and went. Patriotic holidays.

He rounded up to an even five months for his own sake of mind.

Five months, lingering in the shadows, living in the darkness more than he ever had before the game. He was sure people must think that he's dead. A shut in, he hadn't left this fucking house in a month. He just couldn't find the strength.

Watching someone else live their life, watching Lawrence thrive. Watching him interact with his daughter, watching him write reports, watching him talk to colleagues on the phone.

Always watching, but never interacting. His entire life had been viewed through a fish eyed lens, his every waking moment experienced second hand through the scope of a camera.

He didn't appreciate his life. He didn't deserve it. He should have learned something from that fucking game. He should man up and live.

Should grow a set of fucking balls and stop walking everywhere with a camera attached to his face.

He just wasn't capable of doing so.

A camera created a layer of disconnection with the real world. If he was on the outside looking in, he wasn't the poor kid raising himself. He was the person documenting a story of heroing strength of a resilient child.

He wasn't the teenager who was so much of a financial burden that they stalked the streets at night, doing odd and illegal jobs just to pay their way as to not hurt parentals any farther. Instead, he was making a documentary about the devistation of low class families.

He wasn't a starving adult who got doped up and fucked out between smashing all his principles to pay rent. Instead, he was a concerned figure who wanted to tell the truth of the darkest parts of life.

And, most importantly, that he wasn't a broken heap of a man, but instead, he was watching and waiting for that man to get better.

 _Sleep_.

His eyes were starting to grow tired, and his limbs felt horribly heavy.

Five o'clock.

The lock opened, and then the door.

The smell of food woke him up instantly and gave him the strength to stand and meet his better half at the door.

"Idiot. How many times do I tell you to call if you have stuff to carry in?"

The laughter he got in return made his head feel so fuzzy, so good. So safe. So normal.

"I figured you'd be thinking too hard, didn't want to scare you."

Adam scoffed, as if he was offended by the statement, even though they both knew it to be the absolute truth.

"For all you know, I could've been at the gas station, getting a pack of cigarettes because I need another one, hand it over!"

As Adam spoke, he gently took the bags of food from Lawrence, taking note of the logo on the bag.

Olive Garden.

Jesus, did the moron really go out of the way to get takeout from someplace like that?

He hoped it wasn't because Lawrence remembered him saying that he, 'Really kind of want to just fuck up a plate of spaghetti and meatballs.'

Take out wasn't uncommon seeing as Lawrence was too busy to cook and Adam too unmotivated, and more than that, they didn't get fast food often anymore. Lawrence was against eating McDonald's for every meal.

He couldn't imagine why.

Still, despite how it could be a coincidence, there was something deep in Adam that let him know that tonight was Olive Garden because he had said he wanted something vaguely Italian.

The photographer peeked into the bag as Lawrence slowly approached behind him, being loud enough so Adam wouldn't startle from any sudden touch.

One arm hooked around the younger man's chest, pulling him close, grinning gently as he rested his chin in Adam's hair.

His other arm moved to pluck the half smoked cigarette from behind Adam's ear, lowering it in front of his face.

"You didn't finish this one yet."

A soft flush sprang to life on Adam's face as he leaned back into the touch, and a surge of pride shot through him at the progress he'd made today 

This was a stepping stone. He'd always needed a new one the second Lawrence walked into the house.

Adam let out a shocked and genuinely happy laugh, taking the small stick of joy into his own hands, before turning to face the other.

He offered it between his middle and pointer finger, as if asking for a light.

"I'm not going to smoke the rest of this today. Put it in the pack for later?"

The smile he was met with was more beautiful than a thousand suns, and another surge of victory rushed through his veins knowing that Lawrence was proud of him.

_Lawrence was proud of him…_

He suddenly didn't feel like such a mooch.

"I'm happy it's getting easier for you. It means you're less stressed out. You used to go through a pack a day. Your lungs are probably thanking you."

"Yeah, yeah, tar and cancer, I know."

Adam watched for a moment, long enough to see the flash of a green and white carton, before he went to open the boxes of food.

Two full of the most basic bitch spaghetti and meatballs that he'd ever seen, but it still looked too good for him.

A third box was ignored. Adam already knew there was an overly sweet, over priced, and overly fattening dessert in it.

He also knew that he'd end up eating it in a few days, by himself.

"So, are we going to lady and tramp this shit, doc?"

Adam swore Lawrence did a double a take, and he found a silent victory in that fact.

The asshole had gotten way too good at being stone faced in response to any stupid thing he wanted to say.

"I'm sorry, are we going to what..?"

"Y'know, when they're eating the same noodle, and they end up kissing, and that weird chef jerks off to it."

"I think you're remembering that movie wrong."

All Adam could do in response was shrug, grabbing one of the boxes, a set of plastic utensils, before hopping onto the couch, joined by Lawrence not even a few moments later.

"Maybe. The point of it is that they kiss. Are you really going to ignore what I'm getting at here?"

"I don't know what you're getting at here. I think you assume everyone knows what you're talking about, but you almost always never say what you think you mean."

An accurate dig, but Adam was able to shrug it off with a slight roll of his eyes, moving closer to the other.

"I'm saying, they had pasta, we have pasta. We're from two different worlds, we're together, and they did what..?"

It was nearly painful to Adam to see how long it took until realization dawned over Lawrence's face, and Adam took to memory just how he looked when he came to the conclusion.

The look of uncertainty in his eyes, the way his pupils dilated just slightly. The twitch of his fingers.

"Are you sure..? I mean, are we there yet? Are YOU there yet?"

The gentleness only made Adam more sure of the fact that yes -- he was there. At least he was there with someone like Lawrence.

Someone so strong and determined, yet gentle and caring.

Sometimes a little too doting.

God forbid he hurt his little Adam again.

He pushed those thoughts away, where all the dark ones retreated to in the light of Lawrence Gordon, and leaned in just a breath closer.

"We're there. I'm there. I promise."

Lawrence gave a fond smile at the two words they used with each other to get across how deeply they meant something.

It held such great power since Lawrence had come back for him.

There was no reason not to trust the other, but the reassurance was still nice.

"If we're there, then--"

"Dude. Shut the fuck up and kiss me."

Like it was a challenge, Lawrence's face shifted from open and soft to flat in that stern, 'dad' look Adam loved so much. The doctor moved to cup Adam's face, pressing their lips together.

Adam expected it to feel awkward, he'd kissed guys before, but he expected this to be different. After all they'd gone through, all the dark things they knew about each other, Adam expected this to be dark and uncomfortable like everything else.

Instead, it was natural. Like breathing. Like waking up, like taking pictures. Like thinking.

A small gasp was drawn from the photographer as Lawrence slowly moved back, and the gaze shared between them said everything that words couldn't.

It was good for them both, and had lit a flame. A flame that would refuse to let either forget how natural it all felt.

Adam leaned back, and so did his other half.

They ate.

Adam couldn't remember the last time food tasted so good. Couldn't remember why food had never been a part of his routine.

_And for the first time, he didn't wonder where his next meal was coming from._

**Author's Note:**

> kudos comments n constructive criticism welcome 👉👈🥺


End file.
